


Fear of Flying

by allofthefandoms



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fear of Flying, Love Confessions, M/M, New Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:13:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/pseuds/allofthefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nervous?” Bond said with a single raised eyebrow.  “I wouldn’t have taken you for the type to be a nervous flier.”  When Q glares at him, Bond chuckles.</p><p>For a moment he considered denying it, or simply ignoring Bond. But finally he sighed and looked over at 007, trying to keep some haughty dignity, despite how clearly pathetic he was being. "It's just...human error is so great, and flying is such a finnicky business, you know. And really, they don't have as stringent requirements in the intelligence category for pilots as you might imagine." He sighed.</p><p>Bond huffs an amused little sigh at Q’s fear.  As smart as Q was, his irrational fears were sort of charming.  Not that Bond would admit any interest in him.  Of course not.  That would be silly.  But he does change seats with him when Q asks him for the widow and offers him a sip from the flask he had smuggled on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Flying

**Author's Note:**

> To the Q to my Bond. As soon as you get your own AO3, I will be giving you all the credit. Until then, dear readers, know that there is a brilliant mind behind my action.

It had been M’s idea. In fact, he claimed it was a necessity. And really, Q understood that. But bloody hell, why, for once, couldn’t everything have happened someplace nice and close like Glasgow, not Thailand, for god’s sake. Did he really have to be on the ground in Thailand?

But M was insistent, and he would be working with Bond, traveling with him, too, so that made things somewhat better. 007 was distracting--not like that. Okay, he admitted as he fidgeted with his bag in the terminal, waiting for boarding to start. Maybe like that. Actually, quite a bit like that. But Q wasn’t about to comment on that. Or act on it.

“Nervous?” Bond said with a single raised eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the type to be a nervous flier.” When Q glares at him, Bond chuckles.

For a moment he considered denying it, or simply ignoring Bond. But finally he sighed and looked over at 007, trying to keep some haughty dignity, despite how clearly pathetic he was being. "It's just...human error is so great, and flying is such a finnicky business, you know. And really, they don't have as stringent requirements in the intelligence category for pilots as you might imagine." He sighed.

Bond huffs an amused little sigh at Q’s fear. As smart as Q was, his irrational fears were sort of charming. Not that Bond would admit any interest in him. Of course not. That would be silly. But he does change seats with him when Q asks him for the widow and offers him a sip from the flask he had smuggled on.

“Perks of working for the government,” he said when Q raised an eyebrow.

Finally settled in his seat, Q accepted the flask and took a sip. Eurgh. He winced and handed it back, remembering exactly why he stuck to tea or the occasional bear. Hard liquor wasn't quite to his taste. But if it would help keep him calm on this ungodly flight, he would quickly look past that. Anything for some calm. 

The plane started down the runway, and Q tensed as they took a corner and were jostled slightly. Silently, he ran over the facts and figures that were supposed to be helping to calm him--more likely to die in a car crash or just walking around in London than on a plane, the plane has been on hundreds of perfectly safe, normal trips--but he gripped the armrests until his knuckles went white regardless. God, take off was the worst.

Bond couldn’t help himself when he saw unflappable Q looking like he was going to either cry or pass out. He rested his hand over Q’s white knuckled one, rubbing a soothing pattern with his thumb.

Q jumped slightly, but after a moment, the feeling of Bond's thumb gently tracing his hand started to distract him from the (completely abject, pathetic, unprofessional, completely unattractive) terror he was feeling, and after another few moments, he realized he liked how it felt. Finally, they were sailing relatively smoothly across the sky, and Q could try to pretend it was just another train ride. "Um...I suppose I've made a right fool of myself, haven't I?" He asked, glancing over at 007.

“I found it rather endearing,” Bond said. He looked away as soon as the words came out of his mouth. It hadn’t been what he had been intending to say, even though it was true. It was nice to see a side of Q that wasn’t hyper-intelligent and dedicated. 

Q quirked an eyebrow. "Endearing?" He asked. "I hardly see how it's endearing to see one's quartermaster reduced to such a ...well, a rather pathetic state." He sighed. Now he sounded like a proper asshole. "...thank you, though. I will admit to being a bit intimidated by being with the fearless 007. So I suppose being found endearing is really the least harsh reaction I could hope for."

Bond doesn’t share the rest of the thought. He doesn’t share that he is strangely hypnotized by watching Q work, or that he wants to run his hands through Q’s curls. Instead he just shrugs, a half aborted gesture, and hopes Q can’t read the emotion in his face.

As Bond takes his hand off of Q's, the younger man feels a strange jolt of loneliness and worry. He wants to ask Bond to keep his hand there, to continue to comfort him, but he doesn't know how to without sacrificing any of his hard-won dignity. Looking almost desperately at 007, he notices a strange flicker of emotion. "Everything alright, Bond?"

”I--” I think I may be falling in love with you. “I’m fine.”

"Are you sure? You're looking a bit peaky. I hope my yellow-bellied nature isn't rubbing off on you," he said, a small smile playing on his soft lips. When the look didn't quite fade, Q's smile fell, and worry creased his forehead. "If you're not well, you'll tell me, won't you?" Q wanted to look out for Bond, make sure he was alright, and he was beyond the point of trying to convince himself that it wa merely a professional concern. Over their time together, Q had started to fall for the dashing 007 (who didn't, honestly?) and he truly wanted him to be alright. 

Bond took Q’s hand again, unexpected tension draining out of him.

“I’m not quite sure what’s wrong, to be honest,” he said softly. “I’m not physically ill or distressed in any way.” Unless love is considered emotional distress. “I just...” Bond looked at his lap. “I’m not sure...”

Now Q was genuinely worried. He hadn't seen Bond like this before, not unless he was being severely emotionally compromised in the field, and even then he was the textbook example of stoicism. He barely noticed James taking his hand. Instead, Q shifted in his seat to look at Bond straight on. "You don't look pale," he raised his free hand to Bond's forehead, "and you don't feel ill." He frowned, upset that there was some problem related to his double-oh that he, the quartermaster, couldn't solve. 

“Just...” Bond couldn’t deal with the close scrutiny and looked away. “I’m compromised. M never should have sent you with me.”.

Q could feel the sweat break out on his forehead. Compromised was a word every MI6 agent had been trained to fear. Compromised meant danger, compromised meant something wrong, and if something was wrong with James (god, when had he started thinking of him as 'James?') then Q knew he was in trouble too. "What do you mean, compromised?" He asked slowly. 

“The mission has to come first...” Bond whispered, fighting to keep his hands from shaking too hard. “And I am not sure I’ll be able to do that with you here. If you got hurt... or taken...” The thought makes him whimper, and his hand tightens around Q.

A shaky laugh ripped its way through Q. Worried. That's all it was, Bond was worried, he wasn't hurt or being threatened or compromised. But then the words struck him. Bond was worried. Worried about him. A flush rose to his cheeks, and he smiled shyly. "There's no need for worry. I shall be at a remote command base the whole time. There's only a very slim chance I shall have to enter the field with you. I won't be hurt, or taken, though I hardly see how that could compr..." he trailed off, suddenly seeing exactly how that could cause Bond to be compromised, and how it could explain so many thing, but it was impossible...wasn't it?

"Bond...?"

“They would go straight for you if they ever found out how much you mean to me,” Bond said, turning away so he didn’t have to meet Q’s eyes. 

“And please. Call me James.”

He had to ask. Smart as he was (and really, you would be hard-pressed to find someone smarter), he needed to hear the words from James' mouth, for purely selfish, insecure reasons. "And...and how much do I mean to you?"

James looks then, aware that all of his emotions are playing across his face. He doesn’t try to hide them, but he can’t quite meet Q’s eyes.

“You mean everything.”

Q let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "And you think you don't mean everything to me as well?" It wasn't just that James was his 00, or that he was often the only person he would speak to for days on end during long mission...it was that, and so much more. "You know, after the Skyfall affair, Mallory offered me a promotion. I declined. Didn't think I could go without your voice in my ear. I liked you too much." He smiled. "Who else would make my life so much harder than it really needs to be?" He said, both brisk and fond, his eyes sparkling. 

“Glad you like having me around,” James said dryly, his lips twitching. He wasn’t quite sure what the next step was. He wanted to lean over and kiss Q, but he wasn’t...he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself. It was Q’s turn to make the next move.

Q turned his hand over, the one beneath James', and intertwined their fingers, liking the way James' broad, calloused hands fit against his own bony, clammy hands. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it felt right. Q smiled. "So, is this how it's going to be, then?" He asked, not looking up from their hands. "We can't tell M if that's the case. I'm sure that it's not strictly speaking allowed within MI6 policy. Not that you've ever been one for policy."

“We’ll make it work,” James said softly, squeezing Q’s hand. “I care too much to do anything else. Even if it means retiring...” James doesn’t want their first mission to be their last, but if it means keeping Q safe, he’ll do it.

"Oh, shush," Q said, nudging James with his shoulder. "There shall be no talk of retiring. I'm not sure M would allow it. I'm not so certain I'd let you retire, either. It's hell breaking in a new agent," he said with a wry smile. "Like you said, we'll make it work."

Suddenly the plane jolted, and the captain came on the PA system, announcing some turbulence ahead, and would everyone please return to their seat. Q was starting to turn a shade of ashy green that only highlighted the panic in his eyes.

“Shhhh.” Now James could do what he had originally wanted to do when he saw Q’s panic. He shoved the arm rest up and pulled Q to him, hating that he was shaking. He didn’t know what else to do, but Q had taken comfort from his touch before, and he hoped this would be the same.

James' strong arms were enough of an anchor that Q felt a bit of his panic subside. He knew rationally that there was very little to be scared of. But still, every shake of the plane made his stomach roll and his nerves jump. If he could just focus on James, maybe his stomach would stop trying to climb up his throat. "S-sorry about this," he stammered. 

“I’m here,” James said simply, carding a hand through Q’s hair. “You’ll be just fine.”

And with that simple statement, Q knew he would be. His fear was still there, by so was James, and he would know exactly what to do to keep Q from panicking, and what to do if the plane did go down. He sighed, and leaned against James. "I wouldn't be adverse to another drink from that flask at this point," he said. 

James handed him the flask, letting him sit up enough to take another generous swing. The rest of the flight played out similarly, Q trembling and occasionally drinking and James cradling him. And then they were on the ground again. James went to let go of his hand, but Q just smiled and held on.


End file.
